


Princes, Water Nymphs and Pirates, Oh My!

by attasaurus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Imperial Russia, Mermaid Gaby, Pirate Napoleon Solo, Prince Illya Kuryakin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attasaurus/pseuds/attasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1917, Russia - Set in a time where the Russian Revolution was just rumble in the distance, a chance encounter between the Tsar's son, Prince Illya Kuryakin and a mysterious lady of the lake sets in motion his quest to get to know more about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lady in the Lake

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the photoset I made on [tumblr.](http://teacuphumans.tumblr.com/post/134832789908/tmfu-historicalsupernatural-au-princes-water)  
> -  
> Critiques & comments are welcomed.  
> Don't worry, Napoleon will be appearing in later chapters!

“You two return to the palace. I need to clean myself before father decides to disown me for looking like something his hounds dragged in.” Prince Illya Kuryakin stopped his mount by the lake and dismounted. He looked down at himself and made a small sound of disgust. He had decided to gut the deer they had hunted so that it would be easier to carry back. What he forgot was that gutting was really bloody business.

“Are you sure, my Prince?” One of the men - Alexandrovich - asked. “You know how the Tsar doesn’t like it when we leave you alone in the woods. Especially with talk of the Revolution brewing."

Illya was in the middle of unbuttoning his coat when Alexandrovich decided to mention his father’s over-protectiveness. It was stifling, in fact, it was border lining insane how the man has his only son followed around almost everywhere.  His fingers tightened around the buttons and he nearly ripped them off. “You know very well how capable I am in taking care of myself, Alexandrovich.” He managed to grit out. “Now go back! If you’re afraid my father would corner you with troublesome queries regarding my whereabouts, I suggest you stay out of my his eyesight until I am back!"

Both of Illya’s men jumped when their Prince started to raise his voice at them - he was known for his sudden mood swings and those mood swings had resulted in a lot of chairs thrown out of the windows and expensive vases broken. Ivanović, the other man, knew when to back down and awkwardly bowed from his perch on his horse. “O-of course, my Prince. We shall be off. Come, Alexandrovich!” He urged his partner before he kicked his mount into a gallop, leaving Illya to his own devices.

The Prince grunted in satisfaction before he worked on the rest of his clothes and pretty soon, he was standing by the lake in the nude, his clothes a puddle around his feet. He stretched his arms over his head, warming up before he stepped into the lake, pretty much used to the chilliness of the water - well, he was Russian. Now the Kuryakins were known for their golden hair and icy blue eyes but they were also known for their towering height - it was even said that they were descended from the giants that first came into Russia. This height was an advantage for when you wanted to scare your enemy into submission but when it comes to baths… they were just too bloody tall. And Illya right now was only hip high in the water.

He didn’t want to go in too deep - all he wanted was to wash the blood that had managed to get all over him (and by all over, yes, he did indeed get a faceful of deer blood) but in order to do that, he would have to submerge himself in.  And so he waded in deeper, deep enough until it was up to his chest. “Better.” He mumbled, starting to scrub his arms. He was intently rubbing his palms against his cheek when he felt something brush against his legs. Illya froze, his eyes darting around him. 'Must be fish,’ He thought. ‘Eels… or sturgeon. Да.’ When nothing else happened, Illya continued washing up… and then it happened again. This time, whatever that brushed against his leg wrapped itself around his ankles and pulled, bringing the Prince down into the chilly waters.

Illya’s mouth opened in a surprised yelp but he found out that he wasn’t able to make any more noise before he was tugged into the water, bubbles streaming out from his mouth. He tried kicking but his legs were still bound to whatever that was pulling him down. He then squirmed, trying to shake loose but he realised that he was quickly running out of air. God be damned, his lungs were burning and the creature was still pulling him deeper into the lake.

Stars were beginning to cloud his vision when he saw it - the creature. Or at least he thought it was. But no, it can’t be. He was staring into the face of a dark haired woman and she was staring right back at him, her eyes unblinking as she took him in. For a moment, he was transfixed but he soon snapped out of that reverie when his lungs protested and he really needed a gulp of air. Illya opened his mouth and instead of air, water immediately rushed in. His eyes grew heavy - by God he was going to die and the last thing he saw was the look on the woman’s face changing from curiosity to concern.

And then there was black.

* * *

She heard the men before saw them: loud things astride steeds trotting noisily. Gabriella hated it when men decided to come down to the lake - they were either there to throw corpses (oh, she’s seen a couple of those. Even got some shiny baubles from them) or they were there for a tryst. She’ll see men and women undress, see them copulate right there on her shore and after that they’d rinse off in her lake. Disgusting.

Of course, she couldn’t say anything - she wasn’t allowed to show her face to them. Humans. Because she wasn’t one. She was a Rusalka - a water nymph, and it was universally known that humans don’t take too kindly to those who were different from them. Gabriella hid amongst the reeds as she watched the three men approach. One of them got off his mount and started to undress. Oh no. Not this one too. She silently weaved through the reeds and hid herself behind a rock, wanting to take a closer look. She heard one of the men call him ‘Prince’. That definitely explained the fancy livery.

Gabriella heard the Prince raise his voice to the other two and watched as they rode off, leaving the loud one alone. Frowning, she noticed that he was covered in blood. Did he kill someone? Or was he hurt? Probably hurt, if he was yelling like that. She observed him, impressed by the man’s stature. He was big, she’ll give him that. She could smell the blood once he waded into the water. Deer. Ah, so he wasn’t hurt. Well, then. He was noisy and he needed to go.

She pushed herself off the rock and slipped into the water, making her way towards him. She could see his legs - pale things stark white against the semi-murky waters. Grinning, Gabriella swam against his legs and almost laughed when he froze. She did it again, and this time, she wrapped her tail around his ankles and tugged. He was heavy but he was soon under water, thrashing madly.

She could feel him straining against her and it made her hold onto him even tighter. She wasn’t going to let him panic and hit his head on a rock or something! Curling up her torso, she moved over so that she could see his face and -oh. For someone who was struggling to breathe, he was… for the lack of a better word, pretty. His eyes weren’t focused on her but when they did, both of them ended up staring at each other in rapt fascination.

“Hi.”  She said but all that came out were bubbles - of course he wouldn’t understand you, idiot! Gabriella was fixated on the man’s eyelashes when he opened his mouth and he started inhaling lake water. That was when it hit her - he was human, a surface dweller and he was drowning! Gabriella cursed and let go of the now limp man’s ankles. Oh no, oh no. She hooked her arms under his armpits and heaved, quickly bringing him back up to the surface. As soon as they broke the surface, Gabriella tilted his head back, trying to get him to breathe.

“Come on. Please.” She grunted, trying to get a better grip on the Prince while trying to get him to breathe. The man kept slipping but she managed to hold on and started swimming towards the shore where his clothes were. Gabriella pushed and he rolled onto the bank in a heap. “Sorry.” She apologised, cringing when his head hit a rock. She scrambled to him, her fins immediately changing into two very wobbly legs as soon as she touched the ground. She rolled him again, this time to his side and smacked his back, hoping it would get the water out. She smacked a few times before he started coughing and throwing up water. Throwing up water, that was a good sign… right?

Looking around, Gabriella spotted his bloodied shirt and picked it up, intending to try dry him. If there’s one thing she’s learnt about humans, it's that they get chilly very fast. And in a country like Russia, fast is a matter of seconds. She was about to dab him when he started groaning. Gabriella panicked, thinking that he was about to come to and quickly slid back into the water, accidentally bringing along the piece of linen she had been holding onto.

It was when she was some distance away from the shore that she realised she was holding onto it. Looking at it, she grinned when she realised it was his shirt.

“I’m sure he can get another one. He’s a Prince, after all.”


	2. Chess Pieces & Toy Carts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya has daddy problems and Gabriella is adamant about returning Illya's bloody shirt to him.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques & comments are welcomed.

“Shh, he’s waking up.”

“Someone should inform the Tsar.”

“No, not yet. Remember when we thought he woke up yesterday but instead he was just talking in his sleep? All that rabble about some lady in the lake! We should wait until he is fully conscious.”

“I am fully conscious.” Illya grumbled, forcing his eyes open only to squeeze them back shut. The whole room was spinning and the light in the room was stabbing his eyes. “What happened?” The inside of his mouth felt funny and his voice was gravelly. He reached up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Ah! Your Highness! We found you unconscious by the lake uhm… with just your pants lying beside you. And you had a bump on your head the size of a robin’s egg.” Someone piped up. Grigorovich the palace’s physician, probably. “You were also burning from fever. It’s been three days since we found you.”

“What?!” Illya’s eyes snapped open and he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “дерьмо́! (Shit!)”

“You shouldn’t be taxing yourself, Prince Illya! It’s still too soon for you to be getting out of-” Illya had pushed the covers off him and slung his legs off the bed before he sat up, eyes closed, jaw tensing against the nausea. Before anyone could stop him, he reopened his eyes and stood up, a little wobbly “-bed.”

“I need my bedrobes.” He ordered. Nobody moved. “NOW, I SAY!” Illya’s footman quickly grabbed his Master’s robe and quickly helped him into it. “Thank you.” Illya muttered curtly before he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, slippered feet shuffling against the marble. He was about to make his way down the stairs when he bumped into his father halfway down the stairs.

“I heard yelling and I knew it had to be you. Are you feeling better? I took the liberty of making sure the two men who were with you were adequately punished for leaving you out in the woods.”

“I feel better.” He rumbled, not really wanting to talk to his father. He paused when he heard what Tsar Nikolai had done to Alexandrovic and Ivanović. “Those men are mine. It is not your place to punish them. I was the one who told them to return before me.” 

“True, but they were given an order by me to look out for you. You should know by now that my orders precede yours.”

Illya let out a snort and tried to move away from his father, only to find out that the man who was as big as he was had decided to not budge from his spot. “Let me through. I have nothing more to say to you.” 

“You have to understand why I’m doing this, Illya. A revolution is about to happen and I do not want anything to happen to you. You’re my heir.”

“If a revolution is meant to happen, then it will. Nothing can stop it.” Illya spat. “And that’s all you ever think about. Your precious throne. Now, let me through before I throw up on the stairs.” Before his father could reply, Illya squeezed past him and made his way down to the library.

Ah, the library. Illya shut the heavy door behind him and shuffled towards the chessboard that was set in front of the fireplace. He let out a groan as he sat down, glad to be off his feet - he was still reeling from the after effects of the fever. Reaching up, he rubbed his temples when he suddenly found himself staring at the chess pieces. He had been on a political trip to Germany (more like dealing with his Germanic cousins showing off, as usual), and was wandering through the marketplace when his eyes caught the chessboard with its ivory chess pieces carved into the shapes of mythical creatures. The queen was carved into the shape of a mermaid.

Illya frowned and reached out, picking up the queen and examining it closer. He chuckled, “Stupid. There are no such things as _rusalki_ , Kuryakin.” He put the piece back on the board and pulled his bedrobe tighter around himself.

When the servants finally found him, he was curled up in the chair deep asleep.  
  
 

* * *

 

“You keep staring at that piece of cloth. Is it magical?” Adala swum up to an unsuspecting Gabriella and reached out, plucking Illya’s shirt from her hands. She laughed when her friend whirled around, trying to get the shirt back.

“Give it back, Ada!” Gabriella whined, swimming in circles as she attempted to swipe the shirt from Adala. “It’s just - hah!” She managed to smack Adala’s hand with her tail and quickly scrambled for the cloth. “I was going to return it!”

Adala rubbed her hand, pouting at Gabriella. She perked up when Gabriella mentioned that she was going to return the shirt. “Ohh, return it? To whom? … You didn’t kill anyone, did you? That cloth is all bloody. Remember when Marlis was trying to seduce that farmer but drowned him instead? Was it anything like that? Wait, that is wrong… if you’d drowned him, you wouldn’t need to return the shirt…”

Gabriella clutched the shirt close to her chest and glared at her friend, “You talk too much, Ada.” She grumbled, but quickly lightened up. “And no, I wasn’t trying to seduce a man. If you must know, he and his lackeys were noisy so I decided to pull him into the water to warn him off… and the dried blood is from a deer.”

“If you say so. That still doesn’t explain why you’re intent on returning his shirt to him. And how are you going to meet him?”

Gabriella shrugged, “Isn’t that the right thing to do? To return something that doesn’t belong to you? And… he’s a prince. At least, that was what I heard his companion call him. If he is a prince, it means his father is that man in the shiny palace. The village always has a festival near this time - I always see carts go by full of people - and I’m certain he would be there as a guest-of-honour.”

Adala squinted at her friend, all suspicious. “And you know about this festival… how?”

“...I might have gone once or twice.”

“Gaby!”

“Nobody knew what I was! And I only went for an hour before I needed to go back into the water.” Gaby mumbled. “I don’t see how we can’t go up on land for a while when we look exactly like humans up there anyway.”

“I swear, Gabriella. Your fascination with the world up there will get you into trouble. And it’ll definitely start with this prince of yours.”

“I’ll be fine, Ada. You worry too much.” Gaby shook her head, amused. “But I love you all the same.” And with that, Gaby swam off, making her way towards her little sanctuary.

Gaby’s place of residence was a grotto well hidden from the view of anyone passing by and in it contained various knick-knacks that she had accumulated over the years. Years of observing the humans had also resulted in her fashioning little toy carts and horses made from driftwood and reeds. She had managed to figure out how the wheels worked and would then spend hours entertaining herself by pushing the little vehicles around on the boulders.

Pushing herself out of the water, Gaby slung Illya’s bloody shirt over a boulder to dry (hah!) before taking a moment to get used to the feeling of having two legs. She got up, all wobbly like a newborn foal, and made her way to a chest in a corner of the grotto. Opening it up, she rifled through it and pulled out a dress. She wrinkled her nose at it. It was plain thing but it served the purpose of not letting her stand out too much while enjoying the festival.

“Mmm, you’ll do.” She was going to the festival and she was going to return that shirt back to the prince and apologize.


	3. The Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya switches clothes with a peasant and escapes from The Winter Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Illya-centric chapter!
> 
> Critiques & comments are welcomed.

It was the third coat Illya had tried on and it just didn’t feel right. “Get the red one.” He pointed to the red and gold coat spread out on his bed. Ivanović instantly went over and picked it up - he knew his master was starting to get annoyed at not being able to find the right thing to wear. Quietly, he helped Illya into it and stepped back to appraise his master’s appearance.

“I daresay, you should wear this tomorrow, your Highness.”

Illya turned around in front of the mirror, casting a critical eye over at his reflection. “Hmph, if you say so. It is not as if I will be getting off the horse to mingle with the villagers.” He stood still as his dress sword was fastened on. “I despise standing out from the crowd… and that makes no difference anyway since I’m tall enough as it is.” He paused, an idea coming to him. “Just a moment…” He whirled so suddenly that his footman jumped back, yelping. “Apologies. Ivanović, are you the one with the brother who is as tall as I am? Or did I mistake you for Alexandrovich?”

Ivanović shook his head, “You were not mistaken. That was me. Stanislav is the giant of the family but he is not as tall as you, of course. Why do you ask, my Prince?” 

Illya smirked, glad that he didn’t get his man’s family tree wrong. “I am in need of his services. Do you think he can impersonate me for… an hour or so? I will send word to the stable boy that I do not require my mount and instead take the carriage. That way he can just hide inside and all he needs to do is stick his hand out and wave every now and then.”

Poor Ivanović sputtered, “I-Impersonate you? Isn’t that treason?”   
  
“.... Da. But nobody will find out! Not when your brother is sitting quietly inside the carriage. An hour is all I need to go around the festival without being known. Then we switch clothes again....I’ll pay him handsomely.” 

“But, what if your father finds out? I have already gotten into trouble with him for leaving you behind that one time…”

“Then do not get caught. So, what do you say?”

An inward sigh. “...Very well, your Highness. I shall talk to Stanislav.”   
  
Illya straightened up and nodded, “Good. I look forward to our little deception.” It wasn’t Illya’s first time sneaking out from the palace - the first time he did it, he was twelve and he made it past the stables before he was caught by one of the guards. It probably didn’t help that he had the brightest orange coat on and it was in the middle of winter. The next time he tried, he was nineteen and he made it to the village gate. His golden hair and towering height had been spotted by a very observant (nosy, if we’re being technical) villager and the Tsar himself had come down to drag the teenager back to the palace. Of course, that villager had been given a substantial remuneration as a token of thanks. Illya was the paragon of good behavior, to the best of his abilities, obviously. Until now…

\--

The day of the festival soon came and Illya stared at the man standing across from him, frowning as he assessed the other’s clothing. “This is good. I wear these too,” Illya passed over a pair of gloves. “Your hands are more calloused than mine. Someone might notice.” Stanislav nodded, taking the gloves and immediately putting them on as Illya continued to stare. 

“Is there something wrong, your Highness?”

Illya blinked, taken aback by the question before he realized he had been staring. “Oh, no. No. I am just not used to someone being almost as tall as I am.” He cleared his throat. “You will need scarf around your face. If anyone ask, just cough a lot. My father always goes ahead so you don’t have to worry about him. Now where are the clothes you brought?”

Stanislav brought out the sack containing the clothes and passed it over to Illya, who dumped the contents on the bed. “Hmm… Good, you brought a  _ kartuz _ . I do not want my hair giving me away again.” Without saying anything else, he started to undress, much to Stanislav’s embarrassment. The peasant looked up at the ceiling, focusing on the murals as his cheeks heated up. The Prince was one very unorthodox royal.

Illya shook out the  _ kosovorotka,  _ the long-sleeved shirt that reached mid-thigh, and pulled it on before he did the same to the trousers. Once he was done, he stood infront of Stanislav, arms akimbo. “You can look down now.” He snorted, spreading his arms wide. “How do I look?”

Stanislav looked back down and nodded approvingly, “Like a peasant, your Highness. Just remember to ruffle your hair just a bit.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Illya reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up before he slapped the  _ kartuz  _ on his head and finished off by pulling on a ragged coat that was bit too short for him. “There you go. I daresay, Stanislav, I am very excited.”

“At least one of us is.” Stanislav muttered.

“Mm, what was that?”

“Nothing, your Highness.”

“Oh… shall we, then? You will have to go down by main stairs. I will go by the servants’ stairs and exit by the kitchen.” There was a bit of a pause before Illya stuck his hand out. “Good luck to us. If the route is the same as it always is, the carriage will stop by the tavern within the hour. I will make my way there and we can quickly switch back.”

Stanislav stared at the offered hand and hesitantly took it and he shook it firmly, “But if the route is different?” 

“...Then you keep that scarf wrapped around your face.” Illya reminded him as he made his way to the door. Opening it up, he peeked out before he sneaked into the corridor, leaving Stanislav in the room. 

The Winter Palace was huge but Illya hadn’t given it much thought until now. “Damnation, why do I have to be so big?” He muttered, trying to avoid being seen by the servants. Sure, he was in peasant clothes but the servants have been with him for too long, they would spot him in a heartbeat. He crouched as he slinked his way through the halls, remembering to check the corners before finally slipping into the kitchen and out the door into the back of the palace. 

Illya leaned against the door, glad to have cleared the first stage of his escape. “Here goes nothing…” He grumbled as he pushed himself off the door and began the second stage of his little mission.

By the time Illya reached the village (thank you, random farmer who decided he looked lost enough to warrant a ride on the back of his cart), the festival was in full swing. He had always attended but it was always on horseback or in the carriage - he never mingled with the villagers. To suddenly find himself right smack in the revelment was exciting and, to be honest, a bit nerve-wracking. Illya pulled the hat lower and drew up the collar of the coat as he weaved his way through the crowd.

Illya couldn’t help himself and stopped at every stall to see what was up for sale. A tiny  _ babushka _ came up to him, clutching a paper bag. She offered it to him. “Here. Have some roasted chestnuts, my dear!”  

“Oh, no, thank you. I could not.” He declined, but the woman insisted, grabbing his hand and placing the bag on it. “I- are you sure? I could...a moment, please.” He reached into the pocket of his coat with his free hand, fumbling around for a moment only to find out that he didn’t have any money with him. “Blast. I apologize but I don’t have any kopecks to pay you with.” He felt uncomfortable taking something from the lady when she could probably earn from the sale of the chestnuts.

But instead, the tiny lady shook her head at him and tutted, “Take it, child! You look like someone who is constantly in need of food. My husband was the same way.” At the mention of ‘meal’, Illya’s stomach growled - he had forgotten to grab something to eat before carrying out the switch.   
“I… very well. Thank you _. _ ” He gave her a small nod before walking off and opening the bag. The scent of toasted chestnuts instantly wafted up and his stomach growled again, making him cringe. Reaching in, he pulled out a chestnut and wrapped his hand around it, enjoying the warmth radiating from it. He brought it up to his mouth and cracked it open with his teeth before popping the flesh into his mouth. Pretty soon, he was walking around happily joining in the revelry while munching on cracked chestnuts. 

It felt good to be out.


	4. Of Carriages & Spilled Chestnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby's finally made her way to the village festival... so how was she going to meet Prince Illya?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a _very_ long wait for an update. I kinda lost my mojo but I think it's coming back! Also, this chapter is kinda short but I hope to make up for it with the next chapter. Anyways... ENJOY!

Gaby hummed as she made her way to the village, enjoying the feel of the skirt’s coarse linen rub against her legs. She was glad her grotto was able to keep the dress dry enough to be wearable - as impervious to the cold as she was, she still didn’t want to get any unwanted attention for wearing something completely soaked. Speaking of soaked… her hands immediately went to the satchel slung over her right shoulder and she rummaged through it. She pulled out Illya’s shirt and sighed in relief when she found it not drenched… well maybe there were some wet spots here and there but it’ll dry. Rolling it up, she stuffed the shirt back into the satchel and continued on.

She was absolutely buzzing - the festival was always full of music and the different smells coming from all the food carts were always pulling her from one area to another. She rarely talked to anyone out of fear that someone would find out the truth about her and who knows what they would do to. Gaby shuddered when she thought back to how many of her kind had been hunted and sold off. Before she could wallow in her thoughts, the village gates loomed in front of her. A grin almost split her face in half as she made her way through the throng, apologizing to anyone she bumped into every now and then.

Her eyes skimmed over the crowd - no sign of the Prince anywhere. She harrumphed, disappointed, but her eyes soon caught the sight of a cart selling knick knacks. If there was one thing Gaby adored, it was baubles. The weirder, the better. In her excitement, she skipped over and was soon engrossed in figuring out how a music box was working.

“So this ‘gear’ is what makes the man and the lady dance, yes? What about the music? I’ve taken apart mine before but I don’t see anything that would make that beautiful tinkling sound…” Were some of the questions she asked. Lucky for her, the vendor was patient and answered every question she had. “You know what? Take it. I have plenty here.” He waved a hand at the other music boxes he had on display. “Maybe you can figure out how it makes the tinkling sound.” He winked, clearly smitten with her. Gaby blushed and accepted the music box with a flustered “T-thank you.” She clutched the music box to her chest before stuffing it into her satchel.

The vendor opened his mouth, about to ask her something when the crowd got excited.

“Make way for Prince Illya’s carriage!”

Gaby whirled around at the mention of the Prince’s name and sure enough, a carriage was making its way down the street. A gloved hand was stuck out of the window, waving. Gaby wrinkled her nose, of course he wouldn’t be out on the street mingling with the commoners. Royalty. She needed to get the shirt back to him...but how? Guards were posted on all four corners of the carriage!

So focused was she, mulling over the schematics of how to get close enough to the carriage that she didn’t realize she had backed up onto someone. She squealed when chestnut shells fell onto her and she flailed, her hand smacking something.

Illya watched helplessly as his bag of chestnuts was smacked out of his hand and arced in the air before landing in a heap of wet snow. His eyebrows drew together into a frown as he glared at the back of the head of the woman who had slapped his chestnuts out of his hand. He placed a hand over her shoulder, turning her around and opened his mouth, about to chastise her on how she should be looking where she was going when he realized the small thing was gaping up at him. Illya grimaced. _Shit_. Surely the reason why she was looking at him that way was because she recognized him. That’s it. Game’s over, Kuryakin.

Gaby made a face when she felt the huge hand rest on her shoulder, knowing that she was about to get a telling off. She felt the hand exert pressure before she was turned around to face the person she had knocked into. Her eyes went to the chin, then to the downturned yet slightly pouty lips, slowly moving up to the nose...and then they finally rested on those very, very icy blue eyes.

She squinted as she examined his face before she let out a gasp and pointed to him.

“ _YOU_!!”


	5. Blast and Damn It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squabble, squabble, squabble. Seems like Gaby and Illya can't get along!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna thank you guys for sticking around! THAAANKK YOUUUUU! <3

“It’s you!” Gaby wagged a finger at the blonde man before she had a huge hand cover her mouth. She yipped, reaching up to try peel it away.

Illya glared daggers at the woman yelling and pointing at him, “Shhh! Keep quiet!”. He quickly looked around, hoping to God nobody heard the exclamation. Fortunately for him, everyone was enjoying themselves too much at the festival. His eyes went back down to Gaby. “Are you going to promise me you will not scream?” He asked, getting a very enthusiastic nod in return. He paused for a moment before removing his hand.

Gaby wrinkled her nose, what with it having gotten squashed against Illya’s hand. “But, it’s you, isn’t it?”

It was Illya’s turn to wrinkle his nose, though he was doing it out of confusion. “It’s me… what?” It was evident he didn’t recognize her at all. “Look, you knocked into me so I think you should be apologizing to-”  
  
“You’re the Prince! The one who bathed in my lake!” Gaby yipped when Illya grabbed her arm and pulled her bodily towards a nearby alley - away from the carriage and the crowd. “Hey!” She pulled her arm away from him, rubbing the tender skin. The man had such a grip.

“ _Your_ lake?” Illya didn’t give Gaby any time to recover from the dragging before he bombarded her with questions. “What do you mean your lake? ...Were you the one who pulled me into the water? Why did you do that?!” He looked around again and hissed, “And don’t call me that! Out here, I am just Illya.”

“But aren’t you the Pr- mmpfh.” Her words were cut off by a finger smashing against her lips. She frowned up at Illya and slapped his hand away. This man had no sense of personal space at all! “If you’re here… who’s in there?” She jabbed a finger towards where the carriage was.

Illya sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he straightened up. “Yes, I am him.” He grumbled. “I switched places with a manservant.” Upon seeing the inquisitive look the woman was giving him, he grumbled again. “Because I want to see how the festival is like up close. Sitting in a carriage can get… stifling.” Illya peered down at Gaby, trying to place her face.

“See anything you like?” Gaby snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. Illya shook his head, having the grace to blush.

“You cannot be real.” His forehead furrowed. “You were breathing underwater... but a  _rusalka_ is a myth!”

“Well, I am here, am I not?”

Illya glared at Gaby before he paused and reached down, about to pick up the hem of her skirt for a look see. You know, just to see if she had a fish tail hidden somewhere down below.

Gaby was giving her own version of Illya’s glare when the blond giant bent down. “Excuse me!” She managed to squeak out before she pulled her foot back and aimed it at Illya’s face. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Illya looked up just in time to see a dainty foot come crashing into his face.

“Ow!” Illya fell onto his bottom in the snow, clutching his nose. He pulled his hand away and was glad to not see it all bloody. “What was that for?!”

“Do you do that to all the women you meet?!” Gaby smoothed down her dress. “And you have cold hands.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not a good feeling at all!”

“Not a good feeling? _You_ live in a perpetually cold lake!" 

“That is beside the point! I could just kick you!” She trilled, digging into her little pack. She pulled out Illya’s shirt and tossed it at the man sitting in front of her. “Here! Your stupid frilly shirt!”

Illya was rubbing his nose when the shirt hit him in the face. He stiffened, brows knitted together in a frown as he pulled the shirt off. “Why you impudent little thing! I should lock you up in a tank of water put you on display in the palace courtyard!" 

Gaby let out a laugh as she twirled around to walk out of the alley, “You can try. Well, it was nice meeting you, Your _Highness_ but it is getting late and I should be getting back. I do hope I don’t catch you splashing around the lake. I might just decide to drown you.”

Illya bristled at that threat and quickly got up, dusting snow off his pants. “Why you-” He growled but that was cut off when a blast came from somewhere nearby, throwing Gaby back and knocking him off his feet. His temple hit a rock and he immediately blacked out, the _rusalka_ sprawled over him. 

Gaby was about to reach the end of the alley when she saw the Imperial carriage making its way back down the road. Before she could do anything else, the carriage exploded, knocking her back into Illya and causing the both of them to collide onto the snow in a heap. She coughed, trying to get the smoke out of her lungs when she realized that Illya had been knocked out under her, his temple bleeding. Again. She took hold of his shoulders, shaking him. 

“Illya! _Damn you_ , this isn’t the time to pass out!”


End file.
